


the highest point of yearning

by the_ragnarok



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Collars, D/s, Leashes, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 22:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18157964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: "There's no need for you to think. You must only do what I tell you, when I tell you."





	the highest point of yearning

"If you would be amenable," Harold says, rummaging through his drawer, and John loses the rest of the sentence to a familiar clicking of small metal links. His eyes snap to the collar when Harold holds it out to him, an offer John can't refuse, the leash trailing from it like a promise.

With effort, John tears his eyes away. "If you want." His tongue feels thick in his mouth. "We could. Other stuff."

Harold seems amused. "I do want. Are you going to let me?"

John's spine feels liquid. He locks his knees to keep from collapsing to the floor. Makes only a small, desperate grunt when Harold buckles the collar around his neck with sure hands.

He has no idea what Harold intends next. He can't even hold on to the thought: Harold will do as he pleases, and John will do everything Harold says. The certainty feels cool and wonderful in his head.

Harold strokes his neck with a finger. "Excellent. You may kneel."

With relief, John does. He is distantly aware of shaking all over. It feels good, but a little corner of his mind is concerned that Harold would be upset.

Because Harold notices. He always does. And now, he cups John's cheek and says, "Status?"

Words aren't happening right now. John gives him a two-handed thumbs-up. Harold smiles and pets John's head. John's eyes shut in bliss.

They fly open again when Harold calmly says, "Now I want you to fuck me."

Right. Fucking. John scrambles mentally to get a hold of himself, to clear his mind so that he doesn't do the wrong thing, hurt Harold or displease him.

Harold wraps John's leash around his wrist and tugs. "Shh," he tells John. "There's no need for you to think. You must only do what I tell you, when I tell you."

John looks away when gratitude floods him, overwhelmed with Harold's generosity. John is so greedy for feeling like this, everything fuzzy and calm, nothing but Harold's measured string of commands to guide him. He kisses Harold's hip, and his other hand.

"Hold out your hand," Harold says, pouring lube on his fingers when John does. Harold lies down on his side. "Lie behind me."

Harold continues to talk John through fingering him. They do that for a long time, John's cock throbbing in time with his hand's movements. He's hurting, a good kind of hurt, giving over to Harold the decision of if and when the ache will stop.

"Aim your cock to enter me, but don't yet. Only touch the head to my rim," Harold says. He sounds so calm, like he's giving instructions to a barber, _a little shorter in the back_. "You may begin pushing inside, slowly, twice as slow as you moved your fingers."

John buries his face in Harold's shoulder, breathing shallowly. It's been a while since he'd last been allowed to come, but he can control himself. He will. He will stay hard for as long as Harold wants him, fuck Harold as slow as he's told.

"Are you in pain?" Harold asks. "Squeeze my shoulder once for yes, twice for no."

John squeezes once, but, "I like it," bursts out of his mouth, urgent enough to make words after all.

Harold puts his hand over John's. "I know. It's all right. Thank you for telling me. Come in deeper."

When John is fully sheathed in him, he has to be careful of his breathing. He feels an inch from falling apart, like Harold is all that's holding him together. He closes his eyes and tries to count breaths. The numbers run away from him.

Harold squeezes his hand. "You're doing very well." The words help, enough that when Harold says, "Now pull out about halfway," breathy, John can obey, move past his body's response - his mind's response - to Harold.

"Push back in. Slowly."

John goes slow. He can do that. He is aching to come, but more than he wants orgasm he wants for Harold to use him, his body and his strength and his cock. Wants to be a toy for Harold, an instrument to bring Harold pleasure.

And he _is_. Harold's instructions turn shorter, interspersed with panting. Harold's hand pulls spasmodically on John's leash, egging him on. John can look over Harold's shoulder to see Harold jerking himself off, can feel him tightening around John.

Harold's muscles go rigid, then relax, profoundly, with Harold giving a long exhale. As John watches, Harold's cock twitches and spills. John holds still, very still, and awaits further instructions.

"If you can," Harold says finally, after an eternity in which John holds himself unmoving, "pull out without orgasming."

John can, just about. At Harold's instruction, he lies down on his back next to Harold, looking up at the ceiling. His eyes can't quite focus.

Harold's finger trails, idly curious, down John's shaft. John bites down on a curse, restrains his hips from thrusting, and manages not to sob as he sees himself ejaculate: the opposite of coming dry, spilling without the pleasure of climax.

Harold shifts on the bed, and then John's head is cradled warmly over Harold's chest. "It's all right." Harold's voice is soothing. John's mind can lock onto it. While Harold talks to him, the unabated ache between John's legs, even as he's still dripping come, seems to serve a higher purpose. John's heart thuds and tightens. "You did so well. Did you orgasm?" John shakes his head. "Ah, well. Another time." Harold tugs on John's leash, just hard enough for John to feel it.

John throws his head back and cries out. What he's feeling isn't orgasm, it's in his heart and his brain and his spine and it's better than any orgasm he's ever had. He doesn't care if he ever comes again so long as he can have this.

"My dear," Harold tells him, low and dense with intent, "my dear," and John cries and shudders and kisses anything of Harold that he can reach, ecstatic.


End file.
